Human Nature
by eirabach
Summary: BD SPOILERS. Coddled, spoiled and terribly lonely, Nessie sets out to play at being human. Everybody wants to find their place in the world, but for a Cullen it's harder than for most.
1. Prologue: Threads

**A/N: First of all: This story is canon compliant post-Breaking Dawn. If Breaking Dawn made you want to throw things, this will probably not be the fic for you. Also: Spoilers. For everything in the series, pretty much.  
**

**This fic is rated M for language and general debaunchary. I'm not saying that anybody's going to take their clothes off (though they might), but there will be strong language, some violence, and - well - teenagers so expect the law to mean very little to some of them. **

**Please, please keep in mind that I'm British and have only ever been to the US twice and never to the place where the story is set. I just stole the name and geographic location, I have no idea what the town is actually like (apart from what I've discovered via google!). Drop me a review if you don't completely hate it - I've never written in first person or for Twilight before so I kind of need the encouragement!**

**This first chapter acts as a prologue to the story proper, hence why it's a little shorter than most other chapters are likely to be.**

**Disclaimer: All Twilight saga characters and mythologies belong to Stephenie Meyer for her to use as she will, I make absolutely nothing from this and if you sue me all you will get is a slightly brain-damaged cat and three libraries worth of books on the First World War. Sorry. **

* * *

**Human Nature**

**Prologue: Threads**

_What's past is prologue  
_-William Skakespeare _The Tempest_ Act 2 Scene 1

* * *

_She runs._

_She's free so rarely - always coddled, smothered, adored – she hides herself amongst the oldest, tallest trees and wishes for no-one to find her. Maybe he hears her because nobody comes._

_She climbs into the canopy, too-long legs and too-small hands, and she knows she isn't graceful yet. She will be._

_She shuffles along a branch and breathes deeply, willing the tears back in, suffocating misery as much as she can with the lullaby she hums in her head. _

_Most days she stays at home, either curled up in the comfort of her own room in the cottage, or over at the big house, day-dreaming out of the rain-splattered windows whilst her Uncle Jasper tries desperately to foster an interest in bio-chemistry. _

_Other times, when she does go out, she goes to La Push and dances around bonfires, concentrating only on Jacob's beaming smile and not the shrewd eyes of the elders. When they take her to town, visiting Grandpa or entertaining Aunt Alice, other children stare and whisper, but they never say hello, and nobody comes to play. _

_There's no chance of school when you're eighteen months old but look like you're five. No explanation. No hope of friends. _

_It doesn't improve with time._

_She fishes with her Grandpa and tries not to feel guilty as she answers his every question with a lie. She knows he's trying not to look relieved; she's no idea who's failing harder. _

_Every night she hears her parents' moans as they save each other in the only way they can, and if she dreams of tears and frustration and agony inside she hums Disney tunes over breakfast, and smiles like the child she appears. _

_Her life is a beautiful lie that she perpetuates, until the day she's caught out._

_They'll try to save her by tearing her apart._

* * *

"Don't go."

The rain was coming down in sheets, the little grey cottage almost obscured from view, but that suited me perfectly. I'd spent the whole morning trying to avoid my family's eyes as they went about packing their lives up into cardboard boxes, the rain, at least gave me a little bit of privacy; wet, miserable privacy that suited my mood.

"Don't go."

"I've got to," he groaned, clinging to my hands as though the rain would drown him, "you know that. We've had the conversation dozens of times Nessie…"

I shook my head violently, my sodden curls swinging round to stick to my face, and tried to wrench one of my hands free to lift it to his face. If he wouldn't listen then I'd just have to show him, show him exactly what he was doing to me and _make_ him stay, but he only held my hands tighter, keeping them between us.

"You're making this harder than it needs to be, you know."

I couldn't see his face clearly, the tears in my eyes and the pouring rain saw to that, but I could imagine his expression from the tone of his voice. He was putting it on for me - a light, playful tone – which I recognised from my earliest days. Jacob, laughing at the world, telling me stories that Mom and Dad would disapprove of, reassuring me with a roll of his eyes that the only monster under my bed would be him.

_And Daddy's in the closet,_ he would add with a wink, though I'd never quite understood his point.

He sighed again and shook our combined hands up and down in a mockery of a business deal.

"Anyway, Ness, play fair. You're the one leaving me after all."

"I don't _want_ to," I hissed, "I don't want to go to some stupid school with some stupid humans and play _stupid_ pretend for the next god knows how long."

"I know," said Jacob, in a voice so understanding it made me grit my teeth with frustration, "but you have to. You need to go to school, Nessie."

"Don't see why. Uncle Jasper's taught me alright so far, why can't we just carry on like that? Why can't we just _stay here_…?"

My voice cracked on the last word, and Jacob pulled me forward into a warm, soggy embrace.

"You need to see the world…" he started soothingly.

"_Michigan,_" I spat.

Jacob sighed and pulled me closer, "Alright then, Michigan. But really Nessie, it's not so bad. I'll come and visit every weekend, and when the baby's born Sam will be back in action and I can come and join you. It's only eight months Ness. We've got a long time after to catch up."

I pulled away from his arms just far enough to squint up at his face, blinking rapidly to keep the rain out of my eyes, "So that's it then?" I asked, trying to keep the irritation in my tone and exclude the miserable sobs threatening to break through, "See you at the weekends Nessie! No big deal!" I felt the growl rising from my chest, "Won't you even miss me at all?"

He pushed me away roughly, and I felt the bile rise up in my throat at the same moment that my stomach dropped into my feet. He was rubbing his arms as if to stop them shaking.

Oh. _Shaking_.

Crap.

I took one small step backward and tried to swallow enough of my tears to make my voice sound soothing.

"Jake? Jake, calm down. I'm sorry – that was – that was uncalled for."

"Yeah," he hissed, "just a bit."

I tried not to cringe. No matter how many times I'd run off when I'd promised to stay put, regardless of my snippy comments and scowling looks, and despite having put up with me throughout the 'terrible threes' of being a snotty little pre-teen and a precocious toddler in one angst-ridden package, he would only ever smile, and make a swift exit when Mom began yelling. Jacob was never angry with me.

He took a deep breath and unclenched his fists, and I stretched one cautious hand out towards him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, "I don't want to leave like this."

"I don't want you to leave at all," sighed Jacob, pulling me to him in a crushing hug, "I'll definitely miss hugging you. You know I'm your favourite hugging partner."

"Gonna have to get used to chilly ones I guess," I sighed, "and there'll be no respite from Aunt Rose you know. She's going to crow and crow and…"

I trailed off, but didn't try to wriggle free from Jacob's arms. There was a slight shuffling sound from the other side of the clearing, and I tried to bury my head deeper in his chest, squeezing my eyes shut against the inevitable.

"Renesmee, sweetheart, it's time to go." My grandmother was probably the only member of my family that I wouldn't tell to go to hell, which was probably why Dad had sent her. Having a telepathic father had its irritations.

Jacob swallowed hard, and I found myself clutching his shirt tightly in my fists.

"… Jacob?"

Grandmother sounded tense and miserable, and I tried to force myself to remember that I wasn't the only one leaving things behind here. The whole family had been happy in Forks, despite the low profile they'd had to keep since my birth, and I'd seen the pain in my mother's golden eyes when we'd said our goodbyes to Grandpa Swan the night before. Jacob was right. The longer I stood here in the rain clinging to him, the harder the parting was going to be for everybody. Willing myself not to cry I released his shirt, and with both palms flat against his chest took a step backwards.

"You have to go," he said, but it wasn't a question.

I nodded once, hoping against hope that he'd think it was just rain dripping down my face – this was hard enough already.

"Right." Jacob shifted awkwardly, glancing quickly over my shoulder, "Right. I'll see you soon. Behave at school."

"Behave?" I asked, attempting a smile that looked more like a grimace.

Jacob laughed shortly and grinned, a massive beaming grin that seemed to light up the clearing and dispel all the rain and heartache in its path. He winked once, and was gone.

Something deep in my chest seemed to break off and follow him; I barely noticed Esme's cold hand pulling me away from the clearing; away from the cottage, away from home.

I shuddered once, and tried to pull myself together enough to meet my grandmother's worried gaze.

"Renesmee…" Esme began pulling me closer, but I snuggled in to her side of my own accord.

"I'm fine, Gran," I put on my best sunny smile and wiped my wet hair out of my eyes, "I'll see him soon. It's only temporary, right?"

"Of course," she said, squeezing my hand reassuringly, but the smile on her lips didn't quite reach her eyes. "You shouldn't give up so quickly though sweetheart. You might like Michigan."

Still, I nodded - a fairly pathetic attempt at reassurance I was sure - and trudged grimly towards the main house and my waiting family.

We both knew that the forced relocation of the family had nothing to do with a sudden craving for the Great Lakes on any of our parts. Instead, it had been inspired by a stupid momentary lapse of concentration on my part. A lapse I was already regretting when I saw the pain and concern in my grandmother's eyes. It was the reason nobody smiled properly at me any more, why my mother seemed constantly distraught and why my dad spent his days looking like something was eating his insides. It was ridiculous and pathetic and it was taking me away from Jacob, all because I'd not been able to keep my thoughts to myself.

I really hoped this school had a good drama teacher, because I was proving to be a dreadful actress.

They were all waiting for me, as I knew they would be, still as statues on the porch of the now empty house. I wasn't feeling generous enough to try and shield them from the way I was feeling; a momentary sense of twisted pleasure when I saw the discomfort on Jasper and Dad's faces, followed by crushing guilt.

_They're doing it for me_,I thought, and Dad stepped forward to take my hand, _I wish you wouldn't_.

His jaw clenched, but when he spoke his voice was calm and even.

"Come on, sweetheart. It's a long drive."

He wasn't wrong.

The town we were heading too was Houghton, a small, inconsequential old mining town on Michigan's Upper Peninsula, whose claims to fame were as the home of Michigan Tech and an unusual bridge. Esme had chosen it with her head rather than her heart: though it wasn't as overcast as Forks it was winter there for enough of the year that we'd – that I'd – be able to attend school almost as causally as my family had done here. It was still beautiful, though, from what she'd told and shown us, and she'd been nigh on hysterical with delight at the house she'd found for us all; a sprawling nineteenth century mansion with a serious case of dry rot that she'd spent much of the last six months travelling to and from, the renovation work giving her a spring in her step that the rest of us seemed to be missing lately.

Circuitous thoughts which brought me back to the reason we were doing this.

Dad knew the turmoil my head was in of course, I'd learnt very long ago that my own abilities had no bearing on what my dad did, and pulled me from Esme's side for a tight hug.

"It will be for the best, love," he murmured, kissing the top of my head, "you'll regret it if you don't try."

I tried not to sniff pathetically as he passed me off to my mother.

She tucked my wet hair behind my ears, and stretched slightly to kiss my forehead. I was as tall as her now, or very nearly, my accelerated growth meaning that I looked much like her slightly younger sister, and nothing at all like her very nearly five-year-old daughter, but her golden eyes still burnt with the fierceness of her love for me. I couldn't help but hate myself, just a little, for letting her worry about me. I should have tried harder.

Jasper shifted uncomfortably, and then everybody was moving, heading to the cars, chattering quickly amongst themselves about the best route to take and the necessity of 'Nessie breaks' so that I could fulfil the irritating human needs that they didn't need to worry about. Emmett was grumbling about the added weight of having Jasper's motorbike in the back of his Jeep, but Jasper was too thrilled to be trusted with Dad's beloved Aston Martin to pay much attention to Emmett's dirty looks. Rosalie and Alice were already behind the wheels of their cars, engines revving and smirks on both their faces. My grandparents slipped away to the Mercedes, Carlisle hitting the gas and streaking away from the house before even Alice could realise. With a string of oaths, and an impressive wheel-spin from Emmett, Porsche, Aston, Jeep and BMW pealed down the driveway after them.

Dad looked after them longingly and let out an unnecessarily large sigh. Mom rolled her eyes and pulled me closer to her side.

"Are you sure you want to go with your father?" her voice was teasing, but I could hear the undercurrent of warning, "I think he might be planning on taking that Volvo up to warp speed."

Dad beamed at her, and bounced a little impatiently on the balls of his feet, "And you're not?"

"No," said Mom, "laws are laws, Edward. I'm still a Police Chief's daughter."

Dad grunted, and looked longingly towards his car. It was a constant annoyance to him that my mom's distaste for speeding hadn't changed when she had, the stunning Ferrari he'd brought her wasted on ambling along at sixty. I, on the other hand, shared his need for speed and excitement, even if I was a little more breakable.

So it was for the thrill of the drive that I threw myself into the Volvo's passenger seat after kissing my mother good-bye until such a time as her geriatric driving eventually caught up with us, trying not to look as she and Dad kissed a little too enthusiastically for my comfort, and then we were off, Dad turning up the stereo and practically vibrating with glee as he tried to make up the lost ground on the others.

I watched the trees blur past the window and the rain stream over the glass, and then he was there, running alongside the car, tongue lolling from his mouth in that goofy dog-like grin I loved so much, keeping up easily. I had a funny feeling Dad might be letting him. I laughed freely, but then he came to a jarring halt, and my heart seemed to stutter. I craned round, desperate for a last look, knowing that it wouldn't help but wanting it anyway, and watched him grow smaller and smaller through the rear window. He never moved, and I hid the image away in the back of my mind for later study. Jacob was waiting for me. I would come back. I turned back to face the road just in time to see a road sign fly past us:

_You are now leaving Forks_.

I felt the thread that connected my heart to Jacob's stretching out behind me like gum. It wasn't going to snap. I wouldn't let it.

"It won't," said Dad, and I nodded – an agreement and a promise.

So I settled in for the long haul.


	2. Chapter One: Where One Starts From

**A/N: In the original plan this chapter didn't exist, but hey ho, these things happen. Chapter title shamelessly robbed from T.S. Elliot's _Quartet No. 2: East Coker_.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. I still don't have anything anybody else would want!**

* * *

**Human Nature**

**Where One Starts From**

* * *

Ingratitude is monstrous  
-William Shakespeare _Coriolanus_ Act 2 Scene 3

* * *

We'd had to slow down somewhat as we approached the town, and Dad had been grumbling ever since Jasper had overtaken us on the final approach. I was struggling to get comfortable; after forty-eight hours even the Volvo's generous cabin space was beginning to feel a little cramped.

The house that Esme had chosen was perhaps two miles out of Houghton itself. Much like the house in Forks it sat at the end of a long curving driveway, surrounded by forest, but the forest was different here. Where Forks had been grey and grey and damp, Houghton seemed to be alive with colour. Dawn was breaking as we began to navigate the shale drive, and the weak incoming sunlight lit up the fall leaves and cst halos of pink mist around the tops of the nearby mountains. Dad turned a final sharp bend, and I gasped.

The house was, in a word, beautiful.

The trees encroached on it from all sides, but they couldn't hide it. It sprawled out into the woods, a duck-egg blue mansion that varied in height but not in beauty no matter what part I looked at. It was unutterably stunning, as was my mother's poor neglected Ferrari – sat by the front door.

My dad hissed a word I knew I'd have to pretend never to have heard.

"That conniving little minx!" he whispered, seemingly having momentarily forgotten my presence.

It didn't escape my attention that he didn't sound very annoyed about my mom's little-white-speeding-lie, and I found myself frantically wishing for a room as far away from them as possible. There are some things no child wants to know about their parents, no matter how young, beautiful, and frighteningly immortal they may be.

We piled out of the cars - me trying to stretch my aching limbs, exhaustion haunting my every movement, and Emmett huffing about his fourth place finish - so that Esme could lead us en masse up to the front door.

"Do you like it?" she asked us all, though she had eyes only for Carlisle, "I thought it was just charming, and it's so hard to find somewhere decent and secluded…"

"It's beautiful, Esme," said Carlisle, and she seemed to glow with happiness.

"Come on!" Alice pushed her way past my nauseatingly unaware parents, "I want to call dibs on the best room!"

Esme smiled her infinitely patient smile and flung the door open.

As we trooped in I found myself gazing around in gob smacked silence. The big house back home had been wonderful - a true testament to Esme's genius - but this place really was something else. Even Alice seemed shocked into temporary silence. Only Dad seemed to take it all in his stride, but then, I assumed, he'd seen it all before.

The door opened straight into a magnificent room with a ceiling that seemed to soar much higher than a single story. The walls were a rich hazelnut, with delicate white wall sconces arranged here and there to break up the monotony. Most of the furniture had been delivered from Forks, including Dad's beloved piano which stood, impressive and alone, on the room's right hand side. The fluffy white rug was new, though, and the open range across the back wall was crying out for someone to light a real fire. It wasn't as bright as the big house had been, but the tall leaded windows cast a warm, soothing light into the room, but the most impressive feature was the ornate, curving grand staircase that rose from the centre of the room to parts unknown. Esme stood on the bottom stair, practically vibrating with joy. In that moment she really could have been Alice's mother.

Emmett let out a low whistle.

I tried to pay attention as she gave us the guided tour, ohing and ahing in all the right places and forcing my eyes to stay open, but I was much too tired to put on a proper pretence.

"I think Nessie would like to see her room now," Jasper said as Esme and Rosalie finished a long, overly-complicated discussion about the choice of kitchen worktops, and I tried to give him a thankful smile, but it came out more half-yawn, half-grimace.

My mom giggled, and I found myself being half carried through the house, my bleary eyes just about registering enough of the upper floors that I knew I'd never find my way back downstairs without a map. The main staircase seemed to split in two, and then there were corridors, endless corridors, lined with white panelled doors hiding rooms I was too exhausted to care about. Eventually we stopped, and I tried to stagger upright long enough to find out which door was mine. Esme was looking particularly pleased with herself.

"Which one?" I managed to mumble.

Esme pointed to the ceiling.

This was all just bizarre enough that I was starting to wonder if I'd already started dreaming, so I shook myself together and looked around me more carefully. We were stood in the centre of some kind of hallway, large and square, with a decent sized window on one wall and corridors running from either end. There were no panelled doors to be seen, so I decided to follow everybody else's example, and look up.

In the ceiling, surrounded by elaborate plaster moulding, was a trap door, a string dangling from one edge. I eyed it sceptically, and Dad, reading my thoughts for good rather than ill, reached up to pull it.

The trapdoor opened, and down slid a wooden ladder.

"I thought it might be nice for you to have your own space," Esme was buzzing with happiness again, "a sort of den!"

I reached over to touch her face, showing her the appreciation I was too tired to put into words, and her eyes immediately softened.

"Edward –," she began, but Dad was already lifting me into his arms and leaping through the hole in the ceiling like it was nothing at all.

The room was the same size and shape as the hall below us, with beautiful stained glass windows and all the things I'd insisted be brought from Forks already in place, but the only thing that held any interest for me was the big, white bed.

Someone must have put me in it. I was already asleep.

* * *

I woke up to the sun streaming through the windows, casting diamonds of dappled light across my bed and my eyelids.

For a moment I could only revel in the comfort of a proper bed, wriggling with gratitude that Esme always spent a ridiculous sum on my bed-sheets, feeling gloriously at peace.

But then, of course, reality came crashing down around my ears.

Yes the bed was comfortable, but it wasn't _my _bed. My bed was plain and narrow - a bigger, better, bed being one of the few things my dad constantly denied me – but this one was huge and opulent; I had the strangest feeling that I'd been set adrift on a carpet sea on some ridiculously gauzy raft. The room certainly looked vast compared to my little den in the cottage.

Shuffling to the edge of the bed and dangling my feet over, I felt a lot more human than I'd ever felt before. My breathing picked up, and I suddenly felt a hell of a lot more like I was five.

_The only monster under there is me._

Jacob's voice echoed in my head, and I bit back the urge to burst into floods of tears.

Concentrating on controlling my uneven breathing, it began to dawn on me that the entire house was silent. I could tell by the amount of light pouring through the four massive windows that there was no way any of them could have safely gone outside, and, even if this house was as labyrinthine as I thought I remembered, my sensitive hearing should have picked up something from my family by now. They were all perfectly silent though, waiting and listening for me.

"I'm awake," I whispered.

Hardly a second passed before a hole opened up in my floor and Alice hopped lightly through it. She ignored the ladder.

"Come on sleepyhead, you missed almost the whole tour this morning. I'm here to guide you to breakfast!"

I tried to imagine a moose laid out on the over-the-top kitchen tabletop.

Alice held out a hand to me, and we leapt through the trapdoor together, Alice using the rope to latch it shut behind us.

"Esme thought the attic room would be good for you. Private, you know."

She winked, and I tried not to pull a face.

In recent months the whole family (with the exceptions of my amused grandparents and horror-struck parents) seemed to be delighting in filling my head with images and innuendo I could have happily lived without. Whether it was because I now at least looked like a teenager, or whether it was a side-effect of the experiment we'd now embarked upon I had no idea, but I didn't need to read minds to see the mortification on my dad's face every time they tried it. He might have done the impossible and keeled over with shame had he realised just how much about the birds and the bees I'd learnt through ill-timed interruptions. I forced the thought from my mind before Dad could catch wind of it, and thanked my lucky stars that he'd been too _distracted_ to realise before. My awkwardness had been quite enough for poor Jasper to try and contain.

Alice chatted away as she led me through the endless corridors, describing the stunning view from her second floor room and her joy at the size of the wardrobe room Esme had presented her with.

"It's for all of us really," she said without breaking stride as she veered right down another hallway, "but obviously I'll need to stock it up. There's supposed to be a decent mall somewhere downstate…"

She drifted off dreamily before pointing to a staircase that ran up to our right, "Oh, Rose and Emmett's room is up there, Esme thought it might be safer to keep them out of the main house. It is kind of old and she put a lot of work into it. You know it'll be really cold here this winter. I should look into vintage furs… Or faux, I guess, if it's quality…"

I'd stopped paying too much attention - sending, instead, a prayer of thanks that Rosalie and Emmett's room was far enough away from mine to give me the prospect of proper sleep - when Alice span round and threw her arms up in the air.

"Ta da!"

We'd reached the top of the grand staircase. I could see Emmett and Jasper already ensconced in front of the enormous TV with some computer game.

"Could you find your way back?" asked Alice.

"Yes." I lied.

She smirked and danced down the staircase ahead of me. I followed more slowly, taking in the room in a way I hadn't been able to last night – or this morning, technically – feeling much more awake and suddenly enthused by a smell that definitely wasn't partially desiccated herbivore, but that was accompanied by my mother's bell-like voice.

"I'm sure I used to be better at this," she sighed from the vicinity of the kitchen.

"You did," my dad answered, and his genuine laughter was enough to bring a smile to my face.

"Good morning!" I waved brightly at Jasper and Emmett.

"Good afternoon," called Jasper.

"Good luck," muttered Emmett darkly.

Neither of them looked away from the screen, both their brows furrowed in concentration.

"Bella, dear, is it meant to do that?" Esme was concerned.

The smell from the kitchen changed slightly.

"Damn!"

There was the sound of frantic flapping and a rumbling growl that I recognised. I decided to make my entrance before she started on the full blown expletives.

Mom was ineffectually wafting a cloth at a pan sat smoking gently on the stove, whilst Esme hovered anxiously over her shoulder with a glass of water. Carlisle sat at the granite table, his face buried in a local newspaper, Dad and Rosalie opposite him pouring over something that looked suspiciously like a car catalogue. Dad nudged Rosalie and she stuffed it out of sight.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said, coming forward to kiss me on the forehead, "Did you sleep well? Is the room to your liking?"

I spoke for Esme's sake.

"I slept fine, and the room's lovely."

_It's just weird Daddy. But I'll get used to it. It'll get better._

His smile faltered infinitesimally, but he nodded.

"Your mom's made you breakfast, but it may have been more edible a moment ago."

"I'll make you in a minute," hissed Mom as she slid something slightly charred onto a plate.

"I told you so!" crowed Alice from the living room.

Mom's scowl deepened, so I put on the brightest smile I could manage.

"Wow Mom! That smells delicious!"

"You're a horrible liar," she said, placing the plate in front of me and tucking a curl behind my ear to kiss my cheek, "you get that from me."

"They're pancakes?" Rosalie offered from a safe distance.

"After a fashion" added Dad, and the newspaper at the top of the table wobbled in time to a muffled chuckle.

"I am a bit out of practice," admitted Mom; she was eyeing the plate with some trepidation herself.

"You did just fine," Esme soothed.

I was bitterly aware that she didn't have to eat the results herself. I wasn't sure I could be quite so supportive.

"No moose?" I asked, trying to keep the pleading to a minimum.

My dad tried to smother his snort of laughter with a cough.

_No save, Dad. Mom's very well aware that vampires don't cough._

He did have the grace to look contrite, but that may have had something to do with the way Mom was wielding the spatula.

Carlisle folded his newspaper, and smiled encouragingly at me.

"Eat your breakfast – or lunch I suppose – it'll be good practice."

Rosalie crossed her arms and watched me cut off the burnt bits with a knowing look.

"Nessie doesn't have to eat all that rubbish, Carlisle. Why can't she just fake it like the rest of us?"

I threw her a grateful look as I chewed. Carlisle opened his mouth to reply, but my mom got there first.

"Because Nessie isn't supposed to be faking _anything_, Rosalie. That's the whole point! The whole idea is that – "

"Well it's not going to work is it?" Rosalie waved her arm in my general direction, "We're faking everything! How old she is, who she is, _what _she is –"

"I thought you were being supportive Rosalie?" hissed my dad, now suddenly opposite her at my mom's side.

Rosalie threw up her arms in defeat, "I _am_!" she roared, and I felt the shift in atmosphere as Alice, Emmett and – crucially – Jasper appeared in the kitchen behind me. Her voice was calmer as she continued, "I want Nessie to be happy as much as anybody else, but we can't pretend that by making her eat such grotesque things it's going to make her _human_."

"Rosalie!" Esme scolded. I had a feeling it was in defence of the pancakes.

"What Nessie needs – " began Jasper, and I swallowed my last mouthful of pancake and pushed my chair away from the table with a purposefully loud scrape.

"Nessie," I growled, "is right here. And perfectly capable of speaking for herself thank-you-very-much."

Nobody quite managed to look me in the eye.

It had been like this for months; ever since I'd let my guard down and shown them just how miserable I'd been they'd argued over and over about what was best for me, about what would make me happy, or sad, or comfortable, and each one of them seemed determined to control my life in the way they thought best.

I'd been lonely. Cripplingly, agonisingly lonely, and for perhaps the first two years of my life I'd not really understood why I felt the way I did. I'd known that I wasn't quite like the rest of my family, nor was I really like my Grandpa Swan or any of his human friends. I wasn't even like Jacob, and that had perhaps stung the most in the beginning, but I'd accepted my mom's words about being _special_ and I'd lived an existence so coddled that I didn't really know what I was missing. Then, the summer before my third birthday, we visited Nahuel and his family – his _coven_ – and I realised what it was that I wanted; that I was missing.

Nahuel had been stand-offish and so much older than me that I was always a little awestruck in his presence, but when he had thawed out enough to talk to me I'd practically worshiped him. He'd asked me about having a mother, and I'd pitied him a little, but he seemed content with his existence, as, for a time, was I.

Then we'd left, and even the much longed for reunion with Grandpa and my Jacob hadn't been enough to fill the strange new ache in my heart.

If I'd been lonely before, now I was bereft. For six glorious weeks I'd had a friend of my own – not family, not pack – but a friend I could at least imagine I'd picked for myself, and now I was on my own again.

I was surprised I'd managed to keep it from Dad and Jasper as long as I had, but looking at the faces of my family now I thought I imagined I knew how I'd managed it. None of them wanted to believe something that made them feel so guilty.

Mom looked like she might have been crying, if she could, and I felt instantly contrite.

"I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to help."

"Yeah we are!" boomed Emmett, reaching round to pick a bit of pancake from my plate, "And I intend to be the most helpful of all."

He dangled the food over his mouth and wriggled his eyebrows at Rosalie.

"If Nessie wants human friends, human friends she shall have. Check me out, this human shit is easy."

He dropped it into his mouth and grimaced comically. Rosalie groaned.

"You're not coughing that up on me."

"Why would I cough it up?" Emmett was trying very hard not to sound queasy.

"Because eternity is better spent without a bit of charcoal floating around your insides?" asked Dad.

"Or because you're making me feel nauseous too?" Jasper grimaced, and Alice patted his arm comfortingly.

"I can see it, Em," she said with a bright smile, "you either cough that up now, or it'll make its reappearance at a much less convenient time."

"Oh, _no chance_!" Rosalie ushered Emmett out of the kitchen, "Now! Get rid of it now for the love of God!"

Mom threw down her spatula in despair, "I'm a good cook! I swear it! You do this to me on _purpose_!"

Carlisle winked at me, and returned to his paper, and Esme watched me, one eyebrow raised, until I returned to the now cold pancakes. The cloud that had fallen over us had dispersed for the time being, but I knew it wouldn't be too long in returning.

Monday, I was going to school.

I flicked the kitchen TV on to MTV, picked at my pancakes, and began my research.


	3. Chapter Two: Gremlins

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A/N: This took a little longer to write than I'd hoped, but unfortunatly I've just had a death in the family and my head's not quite in the right place. This first half of this chapter isn't quite what I'd hoped for, but I thought I'd best post it as I don't know how quickly I'll be writing for the next few weeks. So, try to enjoy, and drop us a review if you don't hate it! Plot starts soon. I promise!

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'd really like to not be sued.**

**This chapter brought to you by Billy Talent - Cut the Curtains and Strongbow. Hell yes.**

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**Human Nature  
Chapter Two: Gremlins**

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How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!  
William Shakespeare - _Cymbeline_ Act 3 Scene 3

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Monday morning dawned in a whirl of last-minute hunting for my family, and enforced humanity lessons for me. Everybody said their piece, from my grandmother's lessons in table manners to Emmett's lectures on the dangers of teenage hormones, and by the time I found my way to the kitchen on the first day of school my head was so full of useless human trivia that I worried I might fail out.

I was a little later to breakfast than I'd hoped – I was beginning to consider laying a trail of breadcrumbs to find my way about – and found my family lined up as if there were being briefed for a military operation. Mom thrust a bowl of cereal at me as Dad paced back and forth, reminding us of the roles we were expected to play.

"So as Bella, Alice and I are playing younger Rosalie will have to drive the Volvo, and Jasper, you and Emmett can fight it out between you as to who takes another car…"

"I call the Porsche!" cried Jasper. Alice beamed at him; Emmett scowled.

"Whichever, whatever. So. Nessie will be my sister. Jasper and Rose, you're Esme's tragically orphaned wards, and the rest of us are flotsam and jetsam Carlisle's picked up over the years."

Carlisle rolled his eyes for my benefit. I waved to him with my spoon.

"We know, Edward. It's not like we haven't done this before."

Rosalie was more interested in her nails than my dad's speech.

"Bella and Nessie haven't," he shot back, "and this is _important_."

"Everything's going to be fine," insisted Alice, "I've seen it."

"You can't see Nessie," grumbled Dad.

"No, but I've seen enough. Look, Edward, you're panicking her."

I hadn't realised how much my spoon was shaking until my mom pulled me close and kissed my hair.

"You'll do brilliantly, honey."

I shrugged.

_I wish Jacob were here._

Dad sighed. "It's now or never. Are you ready?"

I swallowed my last Cheerio and nodded, Esme reached for the camera.

"A photo of your first day of school!"

I covered my face with my bowl, but Rosalie – always first in line for a photo op – tugged my hands down. I managed a weak smile.

"It'll have to do," said Dad as Esme examined the screen, "we need to go."

For the first time since I was three months old, Mom had to do my coat buttons up for me. My fingers didn't feel properly attached to my body, and my head felt woolly and weird. Alice and Jasper sped off in the Porsche, and I slipped into the Volvo's back seat with my parents, as Rosalie drove and Emmett took shotgun.

"Maybe it's time to trade this old girl in, bro. You need an SUV with a 'Baby on Board' sticker."

Emmett seemed to be revelling in my Dad's relegation to passenger.

Rosalie guided the car smoothly down the long driveway, and took the turn onto the main road at a steady, human, pace. My dad's face was twisted with frustration – if his pale skin could have darkened, it would have been puce.

"We'd like to arrive today, please Rose. If that's at all possible."

Rosalie hissed something that sounded like 'back seat driver'.

Mom patted Dad's knee in understanding, but I was willing the journey to last forever.

It ended, though; as such things must, in an expansive parking lot bordered by some sad looking shrubs. Alice and Jasper had already arrived, and were leaning against the bonnet of the Porsche eyeing the school building with critical disdain.

"We've been to prettier places," sighed Alice, pushing herself away from her car and coming to join us, "but I guess it serves the purpose."

She was right, of course, the school building was long, low and beige; hardly an architectural feat, but practical enough. The windows were set high in the walls except for the eastern end of the building, where one wall was made almost entirely of glass, revealing the school cafeteria inside.

"Where to?" Emmett asked Dad.

Dad gestured towards the entrance, "The gym for schedules. Should be easy enough to find, the whole school's in there."

Jasper took an unnecessarily deep breath before stepping forward.

"You alright?" asked Mom, her eyes flicking from me to Jasper.

"Fine," I said.

"Never better," agreed Jasper.

And then we were there.

Dad led the way towards the sounds of hundreds of excitable voices with a face on him like a man marching off to save the world. Alice danced along behind him, dragging uncomfortable looking Jasper by the hand. Rosalie and Emmett didn't seem in the least bit bothered, and I had to remind myself for the hundredth time that this was something they'd done more times than I could comprehend. Mom walked beside me and squeezed my hand.

"It's going to be fine, you'll see. It's a bit nerve-wracking at first though."

"Yeah," I managed, but anything more in reply stuck in my throat.

Immediately in front of me were the double doors leading to the gym, and beyond them the sound of voices – laughing and shouting – was smothered by the sound of hundreds of heartbeats; the sloshing of all that warm, wet blood, and the _smell_…

_No._

Mom held my hand a little tighter, and I opened my eyes (when had I closed them?) to see Jasper and Dad watching me with grave concern and absolute terror.

"Alright?" asked Mom.

I nodded; not quite trusting myself to speak. Jasper sent a wave of calm my way, and I sent him a grateful smile. I could do this. I'd never slipped, not once, and I wasn't about to start now. Dad beamed at me.

"Breathe, Nessie. Are you ready?"

"No?"

Rosalie huffed then, and turned to me with a hand held out. "Come on. Learn from the master."

"Rose," warned my dad, obviously aware of whatever she was planning, but he didn't try to stop her so I took her hand.

"Oh please, Edward. You _know_ it's my favourite part."

"I wonder why?" he sighed, and I thought that he sounded a little snide, but I didn't have chance to really wonder why because Rosalie had slammed open the double doors and dragged me into the room.

Generally speaking, I tried not to think of humans like animals – like prey – it was a side-effect of Vampirism that didn't sit well with any of us, but at that moment, in that room, I could only think of flocks of sheep.

Around the edges of the gym were teachers at desks, some sitting with papers in their hands, others standing on chairs and yelling grade numbers and names at the tops of their lungs, and in the centre of the room five hundred teenagers had divided into smaller, louder, groups. Bleachers ran across the right-hand side and above them were huge orange banners luridly declaring _Go Gremlins_. It was absolute chaos.

Rosalie began to march towards a desk at the far end.

We followed behind her; Mom and me with some hesitation, everybody else with expressions of amused resignation; and it wasn't the crowded, noisy struggle I was expecting.

The sea of bodies parted before Rosalie, their chatter silenced as their mouths dropped open in shock, and I understood why this was her favourite part. Right now she ruled the school, and she hadn't even had to open her mouth. I could see Alice trying to hold in her giggles, and Mom's absolute mortification, as the entire student population turned and watched our progress. I could have sworn I heard somebody groan.

Rosalie reached her target – a gob-smacked middle-aged man with a stack of papers flapping limply from his hand – and gave him what, to me, appeared to be an intentionally seductive smile.

"Hale. Rosalie Hale. Eleventh grade."

He made a sound that might have been _guh_ and dropped his papers. Rosalie rolled her eyes and held her hand out as he began to ruffle feverishly through them. Emmett sidled up beside her and slipped an arm round her waist, flashing the man a toothy grin as he did so.

"Emmett Cullen. That's two T's. Eleventh."

The man took one look at Emmett's glistening teeth and shot three foot backwards in his chair, his papers scattering to the floor around him. Mom sighed. Somebody in the captivated crowd behind us let out a _tsk_ of irritation, and the spell was broken.

The teacher at the desk in front of us recovered his papers and his poise and handed our class schedules to us as we asked him to, and the students returned to their loud discussions; except now they had a new subject to gossip about. I studied my schedule without really taking any of it in, and found myself being herded off by a loud nasal woman who was calling all the freshmen together. My parents waved encouragingly as we were separated; Alice blew me a kiss; and I found myself suddenly alone in a crowd of people pushing and shoving their way towards our first classes.

* * *

In some respects, that first morning wasn't as bad as I'd feared.

I spent most of English getting used to the smells and sounds of a class of teenagers, but the work was so minimal and my lessons with Jasper so through, that I didn't miss anything of great importance or humiliate myself within the first ten minutes. I was also happily surprised that nobody appeared to be repelled by my presence. The others weren't going out of their way to be friendly as such, and I was on the receiving end of more than a few sideways glances and shared whispers, but most of the other kids smiled when I made eye contact with them and I was by no means the only person sat at a desk on their own.

In other ways, the whole thing was dreadful.

It took until physical education for me to realise why so many of the others had already formed friendships and cliques, but their conversations in the changing rooms about their summers and town gossip clued me in pretty swiftly that in a town this small these kids had all grown up together, and that for them the move to High school was little more than a trip across a corridor. Dad's master plan of slipping me in as a freshman to put me on the same footing as everybody else had blown up spectacularly. It didn't help that the entire school body seemed to have Phys. Ed. At more or less the same time, and my parents saw my humiliation at being paired up with the teacher. Mom dawdled around the door to the changing room, her face twisted in concern, and I gave her what I hoped was a cheery smile before she went in, but I knew they'd all be nearly unbearable with concern when I saw them at lunch. History was spent giving myself a pep talk in the hopes I could throw them off the scent of misery I was pretty sure had to be coming off me in waves.

I left the classroom last, and walked to lunch on my own.

I couldn't help but cringe as I entered the cafeteria; the long orange tables, harsh lighting, and distinctly unappetising food made my stomach twist uncomfortably. I scanned the room for my family as quickly and surreptitiously as I could, and was unsurprised to see them gathered at the darkest end of the longest table, being very careful not to meet anyone's eyes.

They seemed to be trying to blend in to their surroundings, but the harder they tried the more they stood out. Rosalie tossed her hair back over her shoulder and the boy in front of me fell over. Distant sounds of smashing crockery suggested that he wasn't the only one finding the beautiful new students distracting. I sighed, a little louder than my mom would usually ignore, and turned my back on them to receive my lunch.

_What the hell is this?_

I heard my father's snort from the other end of the room, but couldn't tear my eyes away from the gelatinous mass that had been slapped onto my lunch tray. I poked it experimentally with the tip of my knife.

It twitched.

A muffled guffaw emanated from the darkest end of the room.

"Is anything wrong, _dear_?" growled the woman behind the lunch counter, and I swiftly closed my gaping mouth before she could use her ladle to do it herself.

"No?" I asked, hopeful that she'd realise she'd accidentally served me Whiskas, and that this was all just a terrible misunderstanding. Instead, she just waved her ladle threateningly.

"Move along then!"

I took two steps further along the line and was met with another ladle wielding lunch-lady, though this one seemed slightly less frightening and much less self-aware. She spooned a mushy green mess onto my tray, followed by something in irradiated orange, all whilst staring at a spot about six inches over my head. Somebody behind me was trying not to choke on their own laughter; I scowled at the contents of my tray and as if I could will them out of existence.

"Luckily, not every day is casserole day."

I grunted something noncommittal in reply. The lunch wobbled threateningly.

_I am in touch with my roots. I have embraced my human side. Now please, Daddy, please let me go home. It's _congealed.

My mother tutted lowly and hissed my name; they were ganging up on me again.

_If you think I'm going to sit and eat this in front of you so that you can lord it over me forever you're sadly mistaken._

Somebody, probably Emmett, had begun a very irritating fake cough. Attempting to tune my family and their betrayal out I shuffled moodily towards a fairly empty section of table, letting my superior senses guide me through the lunchroom so I could keep my eyes fixed on the tray. I was just sliding onto a cripplingly uncomfortable plastic seat when the voice from the lunch queue piped up again.

"I know it doesn't seem like it now, but the longer you look at it the worse it gets. You'd be better off just eating it and then repressing the memory."

I risked a glance away from the gently undulating mass, still hopeful that when I looked back it would have crawled off my tray of its own volition. Hovering awkwardly by my left shoulder was an enormous grey hooded sweater, holding a tray to match my own. I blinked twice before I realised the sweater contained a boy. It reached to his knees and hung over the ends of his hands, looking like the sort of thing boy scouts might camp in; he was drowning in it. As I looked at him he raised a piece of neon carrot to his mouth and chewed with a grimace. I pushed my tray away slightly and twisted round to get a better look at him.

"Do you find," I asked, "that you have to repress a lot of meals here?"

He cast a nervous glance back over his shoulder towards the terrifying lunch attendants and shrugged noncommittally.

"It's usually not too bad. The vegetables are the worst mainly; they cook them in microwaves older than I am, and I'm pretty sure they'll cause a few tumours," he leant forward and added in a conspiratorial tone, "just never touch the custard."

I was about to ask why not when two thoughts struck simultaneously. My first was that if my parents were to have their own way I'd be stuck here for the next four years, and I probably didn't want to spend the majority of that time fretting over foreign objects in the dessert sauces, and, secondly, that the boy was still standing up, shuffling from foot-to-foot, and clutching his tray like a drowning man with a piece of driftwood. His blue eyes watched me nervously from under a mop of red-brown hair, and my stomach clenched.

I'd always fitted in better than the rest of my family; there was less of the predator visible in my brown eyes, and my bloodlust was better disguised under my veneer of humanity. That was one of the reasons they'd dragged me to this place, to interact like the human they thought I could be, but they'd underestimated teenage humans. For them the need to fit in was tantamount to a survival skill, and I had a sudden sickening feeling that I was just different enough to become a pariah.

I'd had to leave my Jacob for _this_.

The boy's eyes widened imperceptibly, and I tried to arrange my features into my best neutral expression as I looked back to the table. There was a momentary silence followed by a sharp intake of breath, and another tray appeared beside mine.

I watched from the corner of my eye as the boy seemed to undergo some brief internal struggle, before pushing his too long sleeves up to his elbows, turning his body to face me, and thrusting his right hand under my nose. I gazed at it blankly for a minute before tuning to meet his suddenly intense look. The nervousness in his face had transformed into pure terror. He looked like he might be sick.

"Jack," he said, swallowing heavily, "Jack Cafferty."

I gave him what I hoped was a reassuringly human smile.

"Nessie Cullen."

His hand still hovered irresolutely in front of me, so I shook it as gently as I could. Jack looked like a firm handshake might be enough to tip him over the edge and send him screaming from the room.

_I'm not even hungry_, I thought, but there was no answering chuckle, or sigh, or feeling of comfort. Whatever my dad was concentrating on, it wasn't me. I tried not to scowl for Jack's sake.

"You're in my English class, right?" Jack asked, and, to his credit, he managed to keep his voice both level and interested.

I cast my mind back over the morning's faces, hunting through my memories for a flash of red hair and a huge sweater. I drew a blank.

Focusing as hard as I was on Jack's reactions, and irritated by my family's apparent indifference, I didn't notice the group of older students until they were already leering at us over the Formica. Jack immediately looked down, seemingly cringing even smaller into his grey cotton armour. I, on the other hand, looked up to meet the gaze of the leader.

I'd spent enough time over my very nearly five years with Jacob and the La Push wolves to know pack mentality when I saw it, and this group, with their shifty eyes and territorial body language, weren't exactly difficult to read. Their leader was a tall, dark-haired boy with sharp features and a letterman jacket who reminded me strongly of a weasel. He tossed a football casually from hand to hand and watched me appraisingly. For the first time in my life I knew what it felt like to loathe someone on sight.

"Hello, newbie," he said, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I didn't answer him, but he hardly seemed to expect me to; his attention had already turned to Jack.

"Hey! Cafferty!" said the weasel, his voice a mockery of friendliness, "Are you still here? I heard they'd dropped you back to kindergarten, or was that a bit too advanced?"

Jack spoke through clenched teeth, "Very funny Morris."

Another member of the group, a girl with too much make-up and too little skirt, patted the weasel – Morris – on the shoulder, and giggled insipiently.

"Don't be cruel, Sugar," she cooed, "We wouldn't want him to hitch up his trailer and run away, would we?"

Jack scowled, but didn't look up.

"Don't you ever get any new lines?"

The girl tittered again, but the boy narrowed his eyes, leaning forward so that his face was just inches from Jack's.

"Cafferty," he hissed, his voice dripping with bile, "how's your mother?"

It was so quick that even I barely knew what was happening. A cacophony of noise – an outraged hiss, a murderous growl – the shaking of the table as the football slammed into it – the slow-motion arcing of mine and Jack's trays as they left the table and deposited our lunches in our laps, and then there was the soothing presence of Dad and Alice behind me, and the scurrying sound of my mom's human-paced rush to join them.

Morris took an involuntary step back, but his voice was still cocky.

"Be more careful with your lunch dates Newbie."

And they were gone.

"Of all the –,"Alice was ranting angrily in the background as she followed Morris's gang's exit with her eyes. I felt a small comforting hand on my shoulder.

"I'll rip him to shreds," Mom assured me, but I shook my head quickly. She lowered her head to my level and I reached for her cheek.

_That won't help the genuine High School experience, Mom._

She huffed irritably. Dad was worryingly silent, and when he did speak his voice was so low even I struggled to hear him.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine D- Edward," I brushed ineffectually at my casserole sodden skirt, "just a little… stained."

I turned and gave him my best 'I'm alright Dad' smile. His face was unreadable, but he nodded tightly.

"Come on, Nessie," sighed Alice, tugging on my elbow, "I've got some more clothes in my locker for you."

I rolled my eyes; she had half of Macy's in her locker. I was about to get up and follow her when I realised Jack hadn't moved.

He stared unseeingly at the table, with his tray still in his lap and casserole dripping from his sweater. A piece of carrot clung to his violently purple cheek, and his fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that I could see his blood pulsing under the skin. To my horror, it looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"Are you okay, Jack," I asked, even though the answer was blindingly obvious, "do you need to borrow some pants or –"

"No!" he bit out, before his face crumpled further and his voice cracked, "No thanks. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – I shouldn't have sat with you. I'm sorry."

"But you haven't…" but before I had time to reassure him, or forgive him, or even properly acknowledge that he'd spoken he stormed away from the table and out of the room.


	4. Chapter Three: Nobody

**A/N: This chapter is mostly brought to you by Jimmy Eat World - The Authority Song and work-related procrastination. Winner.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine, and never will be! All is SMeyer's, except for the walking ball of teenage insecurity that is Jack Trevelyan Cafferty. He lives in my head.**

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**Human Nature  
Chapter Three: Nobody**

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Love sought is good, but given unsought is better  
-William Shakespeare _Twelfth Night_ Act 3 Scene 1

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I didn't see Jack again though I looked for him in every corridor; sneaking sideways glances through every open door I passed. Alice's spare outfit was probably a bit much for your average small town High School freshman, and I felt the curious eyes on me again – more than had been watching my dramatic entrance this morning. Now there were fewer friendly smiles, and nobody tried to talk to me.

I'd never been particularly good at lying to myself, and I knew I was physically incapable of lying to my family even without Dad's prying, but it was still sort of surprising how rubbish the whole experience made me feel. Even though I'd expected it, even though I'd known in my heart of hearts that a normal human existence was beyond me, I'd still hoped. I'd hoped up until I'd caught sight of Jack Cafferty's terrified face, and then I'd known that there was no place for me here.

I wasn't any better off than I'd been back home, but at least then I'd had Jacob, and Grandpa, and Sue, Billy, Seth. Okay, so some of them turned into wolves when irritated, and most of them were at least slightly repulsed by the vampires I loved, but they weren't scared of me. I had a sudden surge of homesickness, and resisted the urge to slam my forehead against the hard wood of my Algebra desk.

_I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home._

I knew he could hear me, this school was barely bigger than our house, and I squeezed my eyes tight shut as I forced every ounce of emotion, of desperation, into the thought.

_I _hate _it here and I want to go _home!

"… Miss Cullen? Miss Cullen, are you alright?"

I opened my eyes swiftly, embarrassment surging through me as I realised I'd been sat in the middle of the class having what must have looked like a breakdown. I felt the blush spread from my neck to my face, and cursed my mother's genetic inheritance.

The teacher, whose name I wasn't aware I had paid any attention to, was watching me cautiously as she made her way over to my desk. Every student in the room had turned to stare at me, and the whispering had already begun.

Why would a human teenager have a breakdown in the middle of Algebra I?

_Damage control, Nessie, they're all _looking.

"I'm sorry, Miss," I breathed, not having to put on the shaking in my voice, "I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

"Do you feel sick?" She asked. Something in her tone made me wonder if she was more concerned about my health or the cleanliness of her classroom.

"A little," I acquiesced, sensing an opportunity to escape, "please may I go out for some air?"

The teacher raised one eyebrow; somebody sniggered. I stored that information away for later analysis – apparently polite requests weren't common in the lesser spotted teenage student.

"I guess so," said the teacher, "but you should probably check in with the nurse. Will somebody show Renesmee the way?"

I cringed at the way she mispronounced my name – _Renny-Smee – _and made another mental note to make sure all my teachers knew to stick with 'Nessie'.

It didn't escape my attention that there was a dearth of volunteers. The teacher scanned the room and sighed.

"Really, one of you needs to take her," I listened, mortified, "she won't bite."

I choked loudly, and the classes' attention was back on me. A quiet, familiar voice piped up from the corner of the room.

"I'll take her Miss."

The sniggering started up again, but I couldn't be bothered to figure out where it came from.

Jack was sat in the very corner of the room, at a desk by himself, mostly hidden behind the files he'd set up like a child in a little fort. I tried for a grateful smile, though I was really more than capable of making my own way out of this pit, and his lips twitched in reply. He was grey with terror, looking even more vulnerable without the protection of the sweater, and as he stood up to lead me from the room I could see his hands shake.

This was getting ridiculous.

* * *

"So, are you really sick?"

We were barely out of the classroom door, and I turned, suddenly panicked that I'd been found out. Jack rolled his eyes, and unfolded his arms to gesture towards the exit.

"'Cause I'm pretty sure you're not, but I don't want you passing out on me."

I eyed him warily. He stood stiffly, still looking awkward and underdressed without his knee-length sweatshirt, but his face had relaxed and seemed much more open. I quirked one eyebrow at him; he lifted the corner of his lips in reply.

"I'm not going to pass out," I said.

He opened his mouth to speak so I added, "I'm not going to be sick either."

"Good. Looks like traditional ditching it is then." He began marching towards the main door.

I scampered after him, concentrating on keeping up appearances as much as I could, but couldn't do anything about the curiosity I knew must be written all over my face. Jack was an enigma. The confident, witty boy who'd accosted me in the lunch queue had returned in his actions and in the tone of his voice, but his body language was still awkward; shy. His fists would clench and relax with the rhythm of his quick steps. I could feel the tension radiating from the stiff set of his shoulders, but as he pushed open the door to our escape he caught my eye and grinned happily.

"Ladies first."

I stuck my head out cautiously; trying to sniff out, as subtly as possible, any wandering teachers who might catch us out. I'd seen enough teen television to know that ditching on my first day of school was a dangerous precedent to set. I didn't want any more attention than I'd already had, and I couldn't help but worry about Esme's reaction to my first detention. Jack just sniggered, and pushed me through the door.

"Don't panic, 'Smee," he said, leading me towards the parking lot and relative privacy, "nobody goes off hunting for renegade freshmen during last period. Anyway, it's practically a passing requirement to ditch occasionally."

I took a seat on a bench partially obscured by bushes from which I could see the Volvo. Alice wouldn't know to find me here if she weren't looking for Jack.

"Maybe," I said, pulling my bag onto my lap as he settled next to me, "but this is my first real foray into criminal behaviour."

_Unless you count forgery, of course. And Fraud. And Embezzlement._

The very existence of Renesmee Carlie Cullen, aged fourteen years and eleven months, was an elaborate criminal deception. I wondered if Jack would be chuckling so much if he knew.

"So you'll have to forgive me my paranoia," I finished with a false smile.

He choked back the giggles and I cut my eyes at him sharply.

"And where did you get the idea that my name is '_Smee_?"

He shrugged, smiling nonchantly, "Miss Eskola called you Rennysmee. I think 'Smee's a better nickname than -."

"Nessie," I cut him off, a little more harshly than I intended to, but this was something I needed to make very, very clear, "My name's Renesmee. Ruh-_nez­_-may. But unless you're secretly my biological father you'll want to stick with Nessie."

He raised a curious eyebrow, "I will?"

"For your own health," I qualified.

"Alright, alright," he held his hands up in mock surrender, "if my name was as crazy as that I'd be touchy too."

I scowled. "I'm named after my grandmothers."

Jack laughed shortly. "I guess that means it could have been worse."

I began rifling through my bag, hoping for a distraction from my rising irritation. Jack watched me in confusion.

"What are you doing?" he asked, as I tugged out the file I used for English.

"Homework. If you're going to take the piss then I'll just…"

He cut me off with an apologetic wave of his arms. "Sorry, sorry. Sensitive subject."

He smiled warmly at me, but some of his earlier nerves had returned to his eyes. I laid my folder on my lap, and for a few moments we just watched each other warily. Jack took the initiative and spoke first, which I was glad about. I suddenly had no idea what to say.

"So, _Nessie_," the way he emphasised my name made me smile, "what brings you to Houghton?"

I decided to stick to the very basics in the hope that I might get away with mostly telling the truth.

"My father," I tried not to let the white lie faze me, "was… head-hunted, I guess you could say, for the Portage Health Centre. He's a doctor," I let the pride I felt in my grandfather fill my voice, "he's absolutely brilliant."

Jack smiled, and I paused, wondering if I'd said enough, if that was what a normal human would give as an answer, but Jack seemed to see my hesitation and gestured for me to continue. I went for another truth.

"Plus my parents were getting worried about me," I tried for my brightest smile, "they thought it would do me good to get out of Washington. Experience the real high school existence. All that good stuff."

"Does Washington not have real schools then?" he asked, and I was glad to see that the nerves had once again disappeared, "I wouldn't know, you see. I've never even crossed the bridge."

I shrugged, "I wouldn't know either, to be honest. I mean, there are schools of course, but I never went to one."

"Not ever?" he seemed surprised, but there was an undercurrent of something in his tone that I couldn't quite place, "Not even as a little kid?"

"No. I was home-schooled, I guess. I had a tutor."

I thought of the seemingly endless days spent in Jasper's study, the musty smell of the history books we'd both loved so much, the squeak of the leather sofa when I'd shift from studying. I bit back the wave of nostalgia that threatened to overwhelm me.

Jack pulled at the edge of his shirt sleeves. They were slightly frayed and he seemed to be concentrating very hard on each individual yellow thread. "I bet that was awesome."

"Sometimes," I agreed, "but it was really lonely, you know. I never had anyone outside my family, really."

_Anyone human. Anyone who didn't judge us, that wasn't terrified._

I'd spent such a long time hiding my true feelings from my family, struggled so hard to conceal them from Dad and Jasper in particular, that the easy way I could admit it to Jack took me slightly by surprise.

He made a funny little noise in the back of his throat, absorbed by the threads he was tugging from his sleeves.

"You reckon it'll be any better here?"

I remembered the look on his face when he'd sat by me at lunch, and the way his hands had shook even a few minutes ago as he volunteered to take me to the nurse; to ditch that lesson and sit on a bench with me. I thought of the misery in his voice when he'd told me he was sorry. I reached out to touch his hand, not sure I could trust my voice.

"_Nessie_! Nessie what are you doing out here? The bell hasn't even rung yet -"

And there was Alice, skipping towards us, a tiny smile dancing on her lips, Mom and Dad right behind her disapproving, Rosalie leaning on the boot of the Volvo looking on, Emmett flashing me a quick thumbs up when he thought no-one would notice. Jasper hung back, looking pained, and I felt cripplingly guilty.

"Coming," I said, shoving my English work back in my bag, and leaping to my feet. I looked back down at Jack but he wouldn't meet my gaze. "See you tomorrow?" I asked, feeling suddenly stupid and shy, but he looked up and for one moment gave me the most glorious beaming grin. I grinned gormlessly back.

"Come on, Nessie," called my mom, her face twisting with amusement, and I rolled my eyes in Jack's direction.

"Bye," he said, but he was looking at the car with an unreadable expression. The grin was gone, his voice now quiet and unsure again. I waved at him before I slid into the Volvo, and he lifted his hand cautiously in return before returning to the careful study of his shirt cuffs.

_Mad as a hatter. Probably._

"Well," I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, "that was certainly an interesting day."

Mom stroked my hair with a cool hand.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"About what?" I watched her warily, "I thought I did an alright job, all things considered."

_A pretty lonely, boring job. Except for Jack, and he thinks I'm going to kill him._

It was funny how a twenty minute conversation – if you could call those awkward, stilted words conversation – with a boy who was sick with fear had put a cheerful shine on an otherwise miserable day.

"It's unsurprising," Mom continued, sneaking a sideways glance at Dad, "that you walk into school, manage to catch the attention of everybody present, and then spend the whole time pursuing someone you're supposed to avoid."

Dad stayed silent; he appeared to be concentrating incredibly hard on the back of Rosalie's head.

"I wasn't _pursuing_ Jack," I hissed, "I was worried about him after lunch, and then we just got to talking…"

I tried to catch Rosalie's eye in the rear view mirror. No matter how much I loved her I knew how she felt about Jacob, and I knew any ammunition that she thought she could use against him would be flung in his face at the earliest opportunity.

"And anyway," I turned my attention back to my mom, "Jack's hardly a mythological creature with a penchant for my blood, is he? He's scared witless of me."

Mom wrinkled her nose up.

"Funny thing to do though," she turned back to Dad, but he didn't acknowledge her, "taking someone you're scared of out for a breath of fresh air and a cozy little chat."

I rolled my eyes.

"Gee, I don't know Mom. Maybe he's a masochist?"

Mom snorted, and even Dad's lips twitched into a smile. I struggled not to roll my eyes – yet another parental in-joke.

"And anyway, what do you mean someone I'm supposed to avoid?" I leant forward and watched my dad's reactions closely, "Is there something up with Jack?" I remembered the look of terror he'd given me at the lunch table, and my gut twisted uncomfortably, "Does he _know_?"

Dad rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes and groaned, "No, Nessie, he doesn't know, and you must make very sure he never does."

I waved my hand dismissively, "Sure, sure. I know that. I'm not dumb, Dad."

Emmett mumbled something derogatory from the front seat. I hissed in reply, but my attention was still on my dad.

"If he doesn't know, or suspect at least, why's he so scared of me?"

Emmett twisted round to face me, "Maybe he's just a pussy, kid."

He smiled broadly, and I scowled back, but Dad spoke before I could formulate a suitably scathing reply.

"He's not a _pussy_, Emmett. He's a good kid. He's got his reasons."

I felt my eyebrows disappear into my hairline, "Which are?"

Dad sighed, and leant forward. I copied his movement so that we were face to face, Mom sat between the two of us, shifting her eyes from one to the other like the spectator at a tennis match.

"It's not my place to say, Renesmee. If Jack wants to tell you, he will."

I felt my mom place one cold finger under my jaw and lift so that my mouth shut. My dad was keeping something from me, something that affected my daily life. Luckily, I wasn't the only one who found it disturbing.

"No, Edward, for God's sake," Rosalie growled, "you can't go keeping things from us, if the child is suspicious we need to get out of here now…"

She hit the brake a little harder than she should have at the junction, and the car behind honked angrily. Emmett made a lazy gesture out of the window.

"He's not suspicious, Rose," Dad paused to sneer at the following driver through the rear window, "he has no idea that there's anything unusual about Nessie, or about any of us for that matter. Well," he conceded with a slight smile, "apart from the obvious."

"The obvious?" I asked, determined to get at least something from Dad that might help to deal with Jack's odd behaviour.

"The fact that you're the prettiest girl in your class by several miles."

Mom giggled and ruffled my hair, and Emmett whooped joyfully.

"Nessie's got an _admirer_!" he crowed, "Nessie and Jack sitting in a tree – "

He broke off swiftly as Rosalie's elbow made contact with his ribs, and I tried to will the blood out of my tomato-red face.

"I do _not _have an _admirer_," I hissed, trying not to think of Jake's reaction to teenage human boys fawning all over me. Mom smirked at me, and I was struck with horror at the thought it might be true. I liked Jack, and he was the closest thing to a friend I had found so far. If he liked me – if he liked me in _that_ way – then I was going to have to try elsewhere for company, because there was no way I could ever think of him, think of any of them, like _that_.

"Do I?"

Dad seemed to cheer up in the face of my horror, reaching over to ruffle my hair and winking cheekily.

"Oh _God_," I sank as low as I could into the seat and tried to fan the embarrassed flames from my face, "that's just what I need."

Rosalie span the car onto the long drive that led to the house, and the force threw me into my mom's shoulder. I groaned miserably. She tutted good-naturedly and pulled me tighter into her cold side.

"He's messing with you Nessie."

"Really?" I looked up at my dad's face. He did look faintly guilty beneath the obvious amusement. I fluttered my eyelashes, pouted, and watched his resolve crumble away.

"Yes alright," he sighed, "he thinks you're pretty – because you are, obviously, you're beautiful – but he doesn't seem to have any plans of a romantic nature."

"Oh. Good." I sat up straight again, and tossed my hair in the way I'd learnt from Rosalie. "He's not my type anyway."

"Oh?" Mom was smirking slightly, "what is your type then?"

We were pulling into the garage, and Dad was already reaching for the door handle.

"Don't want to know. Don't want to know," he grumbled, just loud enough for me to hear, so I smiled beatifically at the back of his head.

"Hairy."

Emmett's laughter followed me all the way up to my room.


	5. Chapter Four: Only Human

**Disclaimer: Not mine. At all. I can lay claim to Jack, but I'm not sure I _want _to claim any of my other oc's this far. **

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Real life has been seriously kicking my backside recently. Also, fair warning, the rating is important for this chapter. Somebody has a potty mouth.**

**This chapter is brought to you by the following:**

**Good Charlotte - S.O.S.**

**Violent Delight - Alone**

**and cold medicine. A metric fuckton of it.  
**

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**Human Nature Chapter 4:  
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**Only Human**

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The better part of valour is discretion  
-Henry IV Part One Act 5 Scene 4

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The days seemed to pass quickly after that, and I began to find the façade of my humanity surprisingly easy to keep up. I began and ended my school days sharing a desk with Jack, but even in those classes we didn't share I didn't find the awkwardness too overwhelming. Lacey, the chipper girl I sat next to in Spanish, was even pleasant – in a vapid sort of way – and although I had no real urge to get to know her any better, it was nice to know that I could.

Jack and I still spent our lunchtimes alone, the uncomfortable feelings from our first meeting gradually being eroded by an easy familiarity, but I now made sure to choose a table not so very far away from the rest of my family – a promise I'd made to my mom after the debacle of the first day. We had no need to worry, though, as Morris and his associates seemed to be content with watching us from afar, and their whispering and sniggering amongst themselves always seemed to cut off sharply whenever Emmett looked their way.

Tuesday and Wednesday went by in a haze of facts I already knew, and surprising comfort.

Unfortunately for us, Thursday dawned bright and sunny.

My grandfather, too new himself to pull a sick day and get away with it, had dropped me at school in the morning dressed more like an ex-con planning a bank robbery than a respected doctor. I managed to keep the rigid grin on my face till his car was in the distance, and I knew even his sharp eyes couldn't see me anymore. The moment he was gone the smile slid off my face like it was made of Teflon.

Despite all my false bravado, despite every well-meant promise my parents had made, I was now on my own. Nobody would be running to my rescue now. I swallowed the lump in my throat and concentrated on making it to English.

Jack seemed to realise that both my head and heart were elsewhere, and sat silently beside me as we worked, occasionally sneaking sideways glances at me whenever he thought I was too distracted to notice. By the end of first period I'd decided to keep my head down and concentrate on making it through the day, and when the bell finally rang I was already storming towards Art before Jack's gentle voice stopped me in my tracks.

"Nessie, are you sure you're alright?"

I tried to nod and smile, but it must not have been very convincing because my insides felt like they were being torn apart. Jack raised his eyebrows, and I shrugged my shoulders. I had four minutes to get to Art; he'd picked the wrong moment to become Dr. Phil.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, and I scowled – both at his horrible timing and the hypocrisy of his question. Why would I talk to him about anything that made me miserable after _his_ irrational behaviour?

"Maybe," was the best reply I could manage as my feet took off towards my next class, and away from another possible detention, without any real input from the rest of me.

I'd never had a normal human friendship before, so I found myself constantly worrying about whether I was doing it right. I had hoped, when this idea was first suggested, that I would become friends with somebody who was a natural, somebody who could ease me into the world of teenage humans without humiliation. Instead, I'd met the only person in Michigan with fewer social skills than myself.

Actually, that wasn't entirely fair. My art class – an elective chosen more due to interest than talent – contained a sprinkling of friendly types, and a dozen or so students who showed no interest in me whatsoever, but it also involved spending time at the easel next to the most singular, bizarre person I'd ever met. Today she spent most of class smearing her arms with blood red acrylic paint and mumbling violently under her breath at her blank canvas. I surreptitiously scooted my own easel a little further away, but it didn't stop her glaring vehemently at me through narrowed eyes when she thought I couldn't tell. If she hadn't treated everybody else in the class with a similar level of loathing I might have started to develop a complex. Or at least expanded on the complex I already had.

Jack, bless him, wasn't really helping. Though we were now committed partners in Phys. Ed. he still shuffled about from foot to foot as I stood next to him like a man about to run for his life. At least by the time lunch came round he was settled enough to sit next to me on a bench outside the cafeteria, eating most of the unappetizing cheese sandwiches Esme had prepared for me, and soaking up what I hoped were the last real rays of sunshine for the rest of the academic year. He wasn't being particularly talkative though, and in the five minutes we'd been sat there, he'd yet to look at my face.

"What's it like?"

He stared intently at something between his feet. I couldn't help but look as well.

"The floor? Dirty."

I wondered if Jack was being intentionally bizarre today just because Dad wasn't around to translate. Of course not only did Jack not know that Dad could read every thought that went through his odd head, Dad was refusing to help me out anyway.

He scuffed the ground with the toe of his boot.

"Being adopted, I mean. Is it weird? Do you like – do you call them Mom and Dad?"

His face wrinkled like he was waiting for a rebuke. I bit my lip and turned my head away whilst I formulated a reply.

Carlisle's story had been faithfully repeated to every authority figure in the town, but it still came as a shock that Jack would bring it up so soon. I needed to mentally prepare myself for the lie.

"It's kind of weird I guess, and yeah, I call Carlisle and Esme Mom and Dad sometimes. I've lived with them practically my whole life."

I tried to will the smugness out of my smile as I turned back to face Jack, but I was feeling inordinately proud of myself. Not one word of that had been a lie.

"It's nice that you have your brother," he said with genuine feeling, and I tried not to let the painful fantasy of a real brother affect the joy in my voice as I answered:

"Edward loves me more than anything else."

Even that was almost true. I was better at this than I thought.

"Except Bella," Jack said casually, and then his face dropped in horror, "I didn't – I didn't mean…"

I laughed quickly, lightly, "No, no. You're probably right," _almost definitely right_, "You're very observant."

An echo of the earlier uneasiness returned.

Jack leant back on the bench and huffed, "They're very obvious."

We both laughed, and the moment passed. Jack chewed on his sandwich; I fiddled with my locket, noting the way the sun warmed the chain so it wasn't cool on my neck.

"My dad's dead."

He spoke through a mouthful of bread and cheese, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. I jerked my head up to look at his face, but he seemed almost as surprised by the words as I was. He swallowed heavily, knitting his brows together in confusion as if he'd just discovered he'd developed a verbal tic.

I frantically rummaged through my mind for an appropriate reaction.

"I'm sorry?"

I hadn't meant it to come out as a question, but Jack took it with good grace.

"Me too."

I rubbed my suddenly sweaty palms over the knees of my designer jeans, horribly aware of the irony involved in Jack thinking that I could relate to his loss. He thought I'd lost both my parents. He might even think I had it worse than he did. The truth seemed to be eating at my stomach, making me more nervous and nauseous with every second that passed. In comparison Jack seemed more comfortable than I ever remembered him looking before.

"There was an accident," he said, his voice too was stronger than usual, "he drowned."

"I'm sorry," I said again, wincing at how useless it sounded, "When did it happen?"

He twisted a bar of chocolate in his hand so the foil caught the light.

"Three years ago. I didn't take it too well, you know. That's why I ended up held back for a year."

The puzzle pieces clicked seamlessly into place. Jack was already shy and soft-spoken enough to fade into the background of high school life, but the little bit of stigma that being held back had attached to him had been enough to attract the attention of bullies like Morris, to cast him permanently in the role of social outcast.

I thought of the look on Dad's face when he'd first heard the thoughts of Jack's tormentors and the surge of anger was so strong I felt the edge of the bench crumble under my fingers. Jack didn't seem to notice.

He'd put down the chocolate and had turned to face me, but still couldn't manage eye-contact; preferring instead to concentrate on the point of my chin.

"I just wanted you to know," his voice suddenly fierce, "that I'm not stupid. Or on drugs, or a criminal, or anything of the other things _they_ say about me."

"I don't listen to other people," I tried to reassure him, but my voice seemed much weaker than his, "I don't even talk to anybody but you."

Jack barked out a bitter little laugh.

"That won't make you popular."

"I don't care."

"You'll regret it."

"I won't."

"You will."

"_Jack._"

I must have convinced him, at least temporarily, because he lifted his eyes to mine and quirked his lips into the smallest of smiles.

I handed him another cheese sandwich from the box between us, and the smile grew into a beaming grin.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone.

"Trouble."

I'd been so distracted that I hadn't even realised that we were no longer the only ones outside.

Morris stood to one side of the cafeteria entrance, flanked by two of his larger associates that I remembered from Monday's lunch. He was smirking at us. Jack grimaced and I felt my face flush with anger.

"Only three of them today?" I asked, mentally weighing up the risk to my family if I were to send all three flying backwards through the plate glass window.

"Alyssa and her cronies are really only in it for the attention. They're probably inside holding court."

"And those three?"

Could I move quickly enough with Jack in tow to get past them without them realising? What would Jack think had happened? My frustration only fuelled the burst of anger that flooded through me.

"They just like fucking with me," Jack seemed resigned rather than angry, "you'll really need to disassociate yourself from me sharpish, or they'll start with you as well."

I snorted.

"Have you seen Emmett? I'm not scared of those three; Rosalie could take them one-handed."

I smiled to myself at how true that really was. Morris spotted me sizing them up, and gave me an obnoxious little wave.

"I could take two of them now."

I leant forward, suddenly prepared to have ago and damn the consequences, but Jack's restraining hand on my elbow stopped me.

"Think about it Nessie. Craig Morris practically runs this school – his dad practically runs the whole town – if you get on his bad side…"

I shook Jack's hand off with a feral grin.

"Or maybe _Craig Morris_ should be more afraid of _my_ bad side. Come on. It's almost time for the bell."

I tugged at Jack's sweatshirt sleeve, a dozen possible plans for Morris's humiliation forming in my mind only to be rejected as really, really stupid.

I'd never had a craving to be stupid like this before.

"Don't," hissed Jack as he clambered to his feet, and I jumped, afraid that I might have accidentally shown him my half-baked intentions, "it's only your third day. Imagine your dad's reaction if you end up sending Morris to the ER."

A rush of pride ran through me at the thought that Jack might actually believe I could cause Morris some kind of harm, but it was swiftly replaced by a sinking sense of dread.

I thought of my dad's face when he realised I'd set out to cause pain, the blame he'd place on himself for not being here to stop me – to take on Morris himself. I imagined my grandmother's misery at the prospect of yet another move, and my mother, my beautiful mom, who was trying to do her best by sending me here; she would think she'd failed. I though of Jacob's shame; of Alice's guilt. I thought of the warm blood that would drip oh-so-slowly…

I dropped Jack's sleeve. _Not that._

We approached Morris and the others more cautiously now. Neither Jack nor I making eye contact with them; Jack, presumably, out of fear of them; I was slightly more afraid of myself.

Nobody spoke as we closed in on them, but I felt the unseen eyes watching us through the cafeteria windows. It felt like we were about to stage a gun-fight from an old Western, but we had no guns to draw and the only real weapon we had was likely to blow up bloodily in our faces. More specifically mine. But it wouldn't be my blood.

"Hello Newbie," drawled Morris as we came within arms reach of him, "still haven't taken my advice I see."

I scowled; too afraid that if I opened my mouth I'd rip out his throat to reply. Jack stepped slightly in front of me protectively. I almost laughed.

"Leave her alone, Morris. She's done nothing to you."

Morris leered over me, elbowing Jack hard in the stomach, and sending him flying back into the waiting arms of his accomplices.

_Jack could really use some self-defence lessons_.

Morris ignored Jack then, even though he was now held captive by our audience, and leant closer to me. His breath was hot on my face, and I took an involuntary step back. He grabbed me by the top of my arm and dragged me back to him.

I was dimly aware of the sounds of struggle somewhere to my right, somebody yelling, and then screaming, but the entire world – the whole human race – had faded into insignificance for me. It was all I could do to keep taking quick, shallow breaths through my mouth, fighting the red haze that threatened at the edge of my vision. Morris's thin, smug face hovered just inches above my own.

In less than a second, I could destroy him. Rip out his throat, drink his blood, and present his head to Jack as a trophy. Or perhaps not.

"Put her _down_!"

Morris span around, with me still in tow, to face Jack and his surly, silent captors.

"You're in no state to start acting the big man with me, Trash," he forced me away from Jack and up against the cafeteria wall, "if you don't like me touching your little girlfriend, why don't you do something about it?"

He made as if to kiss me, and three things happened at once.

"Don't fucking touch her!" Jack yelled, and as he struggled against the much larger boys, he distracted Morris enough for me to wrench myself free. Still backed into the corner, I knew I only had moments to come up with an escape plan, but Morris was already in front of Jack and I wasn't thinking quickly enough.

His fist flew into the side of Jack's face, and I did the only thing I could think of: I took one shuddering deep breath, and screamed for help.

Everything seemed to slow down.

The air was full of something warm and moist and tangy. The scent of it clogged my throat, and I wheeled round, frantically searching for the source.

Four young humans in front of me, and one of them was the source. One of them would be delicious, but I wasn't opposed to having them all. I thought perhaps I wasn't meant to. I couldn't imagine why not.

I reached for the first human – a scrawny, lanky, weak-looking thing, I would _destroy _him – and smelt the warm blood on his knuckles. I would savour this. Iwould rip the flesh from him and suck his bones dry. Another breath to prolong the anticipation, and then – but no. No, this human was all wrong. The sweet blood wasn't in his possession. He smelt sickly and wrong, like chorine and paint fumes, _repulsive_. I didn't want this one! I shoved the disgusting human away, and cast my eye over the prize.

The sweet-smelling one half lay on the ground the blood pouring from his nose and mouth; I could have wept at the waste. Still, no time to lose, and I stepped forward to stake my claim and satiate my thirst. He looked up at me: bright blue eyes in a blood red face.

_Jack!_

I shook my head, and took another step closer. I didn't have time to listen to the voices in my head now. The voices in my head? Was I mad then? Is that what this was? I could be mad, I supposed. I'd be anything I had to be, for him, for his…

"What the fuck is going on?"

I growled in frustration. Another one! A female this time, not as appealing as the blue eyed boy, but not as dreadful as the scrawny one - like last nights leftovers. Tempting, if there was nothing better on offer, but there was. I could always take the girl with me. I should share.

_No! _Screamed the voice in my head. _No! Jack! Grandfather!_

Grandfather?

I stood perfectly still, allowing the curse laden rants of the girl and the scrawny boy to wash over me, and imagined.

The hysterical faction locked in my mind pelted me with images; a handsome blond man with golden eyes, a woman so beautiful she couldn't be real, a young, dark-haired woman whose eyes pleaded with me. Was I supposed to share with her? I couldn't remember.

_A record as good as theirs, _wheedled the voice.

I felt my brow crease in confusion. I must be mad. I didn't even understand my own delusions.

My mind produced another image before I could reach for the boy again. This one was a man, a man with dark, dark hair and a blindingly white smile.

_Jacob_, pleaded the voice, _think of Jacob_.

I knew that name.

I looked again at the bleeding human, and he blinked owlishly up at me, the blood drying brown on his cheeks and chin.

_You'll regret it, _insisted the voice, and it sounded different now.

_I won't._

_You will._

_**Jack.**_

I took two quick, shallow breaths, and staggered backwards.

"Do you have any fucking clue what you're doing? Were you lobotomised as a child?"

I shook my head feverishly. No idea. No idea at all.

Had I just exposed us? Had I really almost done _that_?

I watched as Jack tried to climb clumsily to his feet, and listened to the girl rant. I agreed with every word.

"You think you're so special – you're above it all – but you're going to fucking regret it. You attack some poor kid in front of half the school –"

I groaned in horror.

"- and you think you can just fucking _waltz away_?"

I shook my head again miserably. Jack finally managed to stagger to his feet, and gazed, slightly cross-eyed, over my shoulder – towards the girl's voice.

"Well I've had e-fucking-nough of you. Fuck this blood is thicker crap. You can stuff your blood up your fucking ass. I'm fucking snitching, and then you can fight me. How about it? Fancy your chances?"

_Yes. No. Hang on…_

"That won't be necessary, Miss Morris. Please see me after classes today. That language is highly unsuitable."

I finally span round to face my accuser, only to find she wasn't accusing me at all.

Between Jack, myself, and the entrance to the cafeteria stood Morris, looking supremely bored, and a teacher I was sure I recognised – Principal? Vice-principal? – whose disapproving glare flickered between Morris and Jack repeatedly. I could almost hear the cogs whirring in his mind; he looked like he had a tic. Behind him, squashed together in the doorway and trampling each other for a better view, stood several dozen of our fellow students. Alyssa stood amongst them, a smug smile playing about her lips, and Morris's two friends were trying to blend in with the back of the crowd as if they'd been there all along.

_Cowards._

The oddest sight, though, was the person who stood inches from Morris, her fists clenched, and her lips drew back in a snarl. Flecks of school acrylic paint were still peeling from her skin. The girl, the accuser, our _would-be rescuer_, was the angry, insular girl from my art class. Miss Morris. The school bully's foul-mouthed sister.

I could have laughed. I felt like I was starring in the climax of some dreadful daytime soap opera. I listened for the sound of faked gasps from an invisible audience, but instead I heard a wet, pained sort of groan.

Morris's sister turned her attention towards us, towards Jack, and her black-rimmed eyes opened wide – wide enough for me to see something flash across them – before she span on her heel, storming through the watching crowd and mumbling under her breath the whole way. She elbowed one of Morris's gang in the ribs as she did so, but none of them seemed to pay her any attention.

The teacher was watching us again now.

"Now, Mr. Cafferty, I think you ought to see the nurse about your," he hesitated, "…face. Are you hurt, Miss Cullen?"

I shook my head mutely, and wished I could do something else. I felt like a nodding dog. The teacher didn't look convinced.

"Perhaps you should accompany Mr. Cafferty anyway."

I nodded, _again_. I cursed myself, but what else could I do?

The teacher sighed, the long, deep sigh of a man familiar with frustration, and beckoned to Morris with one finger.

"My office, Mr. Morris. Now. The rest of you to class. Go!"

Not one member of the audience looked back at us.

"'Essie?" Jack moaned.

I fought back the monster in my mind, and took his hot, sticky hand in mine.

"Come on," I said, dragging him behind me and towards the nurse's office, "you and I are starting to make a habit of this."


End file.
